A/N: This is set sometime just before the Kali episodes, so near the end of season two. Nikola is still human, still not happy about it, and having a little trouble adjusting.

Final Words

...

4. Sticks and Stones

Showing up on the Sanctuary doorstep like this, unannounced, uninvited, in need of help, was nothing short of humiliating.

And yet, sadly necessary.

Nikola propped himself there in the large, ornate archway, and determinedly thumped away with the heavy brass knocker until, after an age, the door opened.

"Whoa," Henry said, looking surprised to find such a visitor on the other side of the door. "Uh, so you're... here. Does the boss know you're here? I'm just gonna - hey, are you okay? You look kinda..." He grimaced.

Nikola felt his tenuous grasp on both the door-frame and consciousness fading with every moment. "Okay," he croaked, "I know I've been dwelling on this point a lot of late, but I may be, I don't know, dying?"

There was a dim sensation then, like falling, though he didn't recall hitting the floor.

The next few minutes were a hazy blur of urgent voices and hands touching him and walls rushing by. The last thing he saw before unconsciousness claimed him was Helen, her sweet, concerned face hovering over his, her lips moving as she said his name.

.

.

He woke in familiar surroundings, reclining in an infirmary bed between clean sheets. He felt weak, his head aching and his eyes sore as he blinked in the light, but on the whole he was rather more comfortable than he had been in days, perhaps weeks. He shifted and there was a slight twinge in his hand - he looked to find an IV stand beside the bed, needle taped to the back of his hand. No doubt the source of the comfort, he decided. Helen had fixed him up with the good drugs; that was nice of her.

Speaking of the woman herself, she entered his field of vision just then. "You're awake," she said.

"For now," he rasped out. "At any rate, ready for the prognosis. Come on, give to me straight, don't feel you have to hold your punches. I can take it."

Helen gave him an odd look. "You have a cold."

He blinked up at her from his deathbed. "What?"

"A cold."

"Are you sure you're a real doctor? Whatever I have, it's much worse than a little cold. Why do you have me on an IV drip if it's a cold? Are you - are you lying to me to ease my passage? Have a little respect, will you?"

"The IV is fluids and nutrients - you arrived here with low blood sugar, slight dehydration, and showing signs of exhaustion. That would be why you passed out on my doorstep. You haven't been taking care of yourself, have you? No wonder you caught a cold - you need to eat several times a day, drink some water every now and then, and sleep occasionally. Or your immune response will be compromised."

"You realise you might as well be speaking Martian, don't you? I'm a vampire. My immune response is being a damn vampire."

"Not any more." Her tone was not as cruel as it might have been, but the truth hurt nonetheless. She smiled. "But it's not too dire, you simply need to go to bed with some soup and hot tea, and you'll feel better in a day or two."

He picked listlessly at the starchy white sheet. "How nice if that were true."

He heard Helen's soft sigh. "Get some rest. I'll have someone bring you something to eat in a little while, and the drip can come out."

He raised his eyes to the ceiling, feeling pathetic and miserable and hating it as he listened to her departing footsteps.

He coughed weakly. Then he coughed again.

"It could be pneumonia," he muttered. The idea made him feel a bit better, and he brightened momentarily.

"It is not pneumonia!" Helen called back, already out of the room, leaving him all the more depressed than before.

.

.

She reappeared a few hours later. "Feeling better?" she said as she came to stand by the bed.

He did feel better. He was of course not going to tell her that.

But yes, he'd had soup, and tea, and had his pillows plumped and the IV removed by one of the more gruff and hairy nurses he'd ever known, and then been left thankfully in peace for a time, and physically at least, he was better.

"You know what the worst part is?" he said.

She didn't ask, merely raised an eyebrow.

"You're being nice to me."

"I... could throw you out on the street if you like." She moved closer, propping a hip on the edge of the bed. "It's not pity, if that's what's bothering you."

"No," he agreed, "It's not pity - let it never be said you aren't a true friend, Helen, not even an ounce of sympathy for me in my time of crisis." Her mouth dropped open but he waved off her oncoming protest. "I'm no threat. I'm harmless. A de-clawed cat suddenly allowed on the furniture."

"Oh dear. Should I send for Will? He's the therapist, I'm sure he'd be happy to talk to you."

"You wouldn't dare. If you set that little walking Freudian nightmare on me, I will never forgive you."

She smirked and admitted, "I'm here with more practical concerns, anyway. Roll up your sleeve."

Suddenly she produced a syringe along with a sealed alcohol swipe from her pocket and gestured at his arm.

He eyed it suspiciously. "What is that?"

"Has it occurred to you that you're a walking magnet, one who hasn't been human since before the majority of vaccines were invented? If you're going to have metal objects flying towards you at random, I thought perhaps a tetanus shot mightn't be a bad idea." She shrugged. "The talk of immune systems earlier made me think of it."

"I haven't been vaccinated for anything." Alarmed, he hastily undid his cuff and shoved his sleeve up. When she leaned over to give him the shot he shied away. "Shouldn't you be wearing a mask?"

"I'm not contagious!"

"So you say. You know, now I think of it, I was given the smallpox vaccination, of course, as a child. How are we doing with smallpox?"

"Effectively eradicated a number of years ago."

"Great, so the one thing I can't catch anyway. Well what are you waiting for?" He pushed his arm at her again. "I nicked myself shaving the other day, I could have tetanus already, no thanks to you."

"Well, you're still talking... That's a good sign. I suppose," she murmured, as she swabbed his arm and jabbed him - none too gently. Then she produced another syringe and held it up while he was still rubbing at the rather tender injection site. "Flu shot," she explained. "This is about all we keep on hand as far as your standard vaccines go, but you might want to catch up on a few others. Especially if you're travelling."

He rolled up his other sleeve and held out his arm. "Hit me."

She leaned across him to reach his other arm. "For a man who showed up today apparently unwilling to feed himself, your sudden interest in your health is encouraging."

"Germs are almost as terrifying as the prospect of old age. Do we have a vaccine for that yet?"

"I think it's called dying young. Which, if you're not careful -"

He waved a hand. "Yes, yes, an apple a day, etcetera. Well if there's one thing we know I excel at, it's being careful."

She smiled and sat back, setting aside the empty syringes and used wipes. "I'm glad you've not given up entirely."

"Your excellent standard of care notwithstanding, I could be around for a few years yet. If you're lucky."

"If I'm lucky?" She snorted. "If I'm lucky, whatever schemes you come up with to 're-vamp' yourself won't end up causing me or my Sanctuary any trouble."

"Scheming? Me?"

"Whatever it was you were so focused on you didn't eat, drink or sleep for days."

"Nothing for you to worry your charming head about."

"Hmm. Difficult not to when you choose my doorstep to pass out on. Not that I'm... not glad you did. I suppose. Goodness knows you can't take care of yourself, apparently."

"There you go, Helen, being nice again. It's nothing short of insulting."

"If it makes you feel any better, I plan on throwing you out on the street in the morning."

"See? That's all I ask."

She laughed a little, and patted his arm. "Try to get some rest." She stood to go, but then paused, as if wavering on saying something more.

"What is it?" he asked.

She looked thoughtful a moment. "You'll no doubt take this the wrong way -"

"I like where this is going already."

"I just wanted you to know... Even as a mere human, Nikola, well I wouldn't bet against you. Unless you were up against me, of course."

Whatever clever remark he may have come up with vanished in the face of her sudden sincerity. "I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"So sorry," she tossed over her shoulder along with an impertinent grin as she departed, "It won't happen again."

.

.

He didn't wait to be escorted off the premises at dawn - yes, Helen had most likely been joking about that, although he wouldn't put it past her - the thing was, he'd got what he came for. And besides, he didn't like to say goodbye. So he left during the night, with every intention that the next time he saw her, he would have proved her right - he was not to be wagered against; he was not to be counted out.

Oh, Helen knew him too well. Of course he had a plan. A good one, as if he was capable of anything else. And he would get right on it, just as soon as he found a proper human medical clinic stocked with proper human medicines, and got himself inoculated for everything under the sun. And possibly ate some spinach or tofu or something.

He only had to live long enough to find the remaining source blood the Cabal had stolen - until then, he supposed the goal was to, well, live. A genius like him should be just about able to manage. And if not, well he could always drop by Nurse Helen's again - maybe next time he could convince her to give him a sponge bath.